By SARAH WU

When the Tiger slinks around the house, she leaves behind chess sets and violins and dictionaries that swirl above our heads like birds. Her orange fur disappears from corners and her ink-stained footprints press against the floor, and it is through these moments that we know she is watching us.

Her presence is a pause; she appears the same way commas appear in sentences, bringing a brief moment of silence before the day continues.